


Franchising

by Sexsuna



Series: The Cocksucking Male Maid Saga [2]
Category: Jrock, KIL:erre, Metis Gretel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Ballet boots, Crossdressing, Deep Throating, Double Penetration in One Hole, Gay Sex, Japanese Character(s), M/M, Multi, Visual Kei, cocksucking, double anal, gagging, homofication, sexual rectification therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexsuna/pseuds/Sexsuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Setsuna, in a seedy bar somewhere, chats up a girl and agrees to go go with her, hoping for a bit of the old in-out. Little does he expect what cruel twist of fate shall for ever remodel his vapid life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Franchising

He switched gears; the lever terminated in a small plasma globe lamp, the instrument panel a mess of neon-blue lights. He accelerated on the motorway, and Momoko felt herself pressed into the seat. His big hands with the painted nails were on the wheel, and his thin but muscular arms moved confidently. He pressed the pedal down further, exceeding the speed limit by a good margin, pushing her towards the door as they navigated a sharp turn; then he cocked his head and looked at her with a smile of foolish pride, hungrily, thirsting for the bestial sins of the flesh, for the jutting bones of the doomed and decaying. She put a finger to her mouth to egg him on – she wanted him to suspect nothing when they came to the shooting location. His long black hair, some of it so long that it reached down almost to his knees when he sat leisurely as he did now, was exquisite, but she felt no particular urge for any relations with the man. He was but a cog in the wheel, an actor in her play, and he would do what she wanted him to, resistance or not. No longer could these floozies be allowed to ruin fantasies with their unimaginative boring slatternous ways; their vapid PIV-infantilism would be vanquished. 

“It’s close now,” she said. “Get off at the next exit, and then through the junction, and off the left after the first bus-stop, into the alleyway.”

“There’s not much housing around here,” the man said, slowing down. A sign swished by overhead. The traffic was light, past two in the morning and heading eastwards, with light rain falling from the dark skies dyed yellow by the city lights, and the man brushed off some trace of make-up left on his chin with his free hand, steering onto the slip-road with the other. The plasma-lamp gear stick oscillated like an erotic toy, and he looked at her afterwards as he came to a halt at the light at the junction ahead. He laughed a half-suppressed thing, like the sound of merriment uttered by some happy rodent moments before it is swept away by a bird of prey. 

“I don’t live there,” she replied. “It’s where I work, but there’s a bed and such. I like to stay there; it’s much closer to the city than going all the way home.”

“What sort of thing you do there?”

“Warehouse-work,” she lied. “Just moving boxes and things. Small loads, usually. It’s a publishing house, printing monthly small-circulation magazines and the like.” Should be convincing enough, she thought. 

“Ah.” He seemed happy with the answer. They came to a bus-stop, and he asked if it was the right one. She replied that it was, and he slowed further, made the turn, and they were finally there. The area was primarily occupied by publishing houses of smaller sizes (to exploit legislation relaxing regulation for businesses with ‘fewer than 10 employés’, while these were most often associated with the large publishing businesses), and scattered office complexes. There was a light night-life of early-closing after-work bars and pubs and cheap restaurants, coffee houses and the like, and most of them were closed by now. No one was seen in the alley, and it was dark in the shadow of the buildings, lit only by a lone lamp at a junction with another alley ahead and the vomit-green light of a neon-sign advertising some soft-drink. 

The car stopped, he turned the key and the neon-lit atrocity disintegrated into forgiving darkness. He laughed to himself as he got out of the car, brushing one of his hands through his long fine hair, probably thinking about what was to be done; the vapid decadent thoughts sailing through his vacuous mind just then, a perversion so normal and vanilla the mere hint of it made her feel ill. But he would see, he would see, soon enough.

She got out of the car as well.

 

Down in the subdued light of the basement storage room, where against the far wall stood the thin bed, barely wide enough for two people; in fact, it was just a mattress placed on the floor and covered in a flower-pattern duvet. He didn’t seem to mind at all, for he sat down upon it, as if it was something he often did, occupied as his mind was with the sickening sexual thoughts that rushed through it like ants through their colony. Without her doing or saying anything he already started taking off his clothes; his shirt first, a loose armless thing, revealing his thin well-chiselled form, muscles hard from sexual exploits.

“I have to go by the bathroom,” she said, and he nodded in reply, and she vanished up a short stair, four steps up and rounded the corner. 

He, whose name was Setsuna, waited naked sans his grey boxer shorts while tugging at his erection in dazed horny anticipation. In this state utter horror found him, for down the stair came not the beautiful girl whom he had chatted up at the party (at least that was the way he chose to interpret the sequence of events – in reality it was quite the opposite, but his pride and confidence in his own ability to achieve sexual conquest prevented him from seeing this clearly), but two unsightly men, middle-aged, strong-seeming but not muscular in a way that seemed geared for visual appearance, wearing black sunglasses. They wore nothing else but black underwear. Though Setsuna was not a small man, they were definitely bigger than he; one of them seemed well over a head higher from where he lay, and his shoulders wide as the horizon. 

The woman strutted down the stairs soon after, a tripod and camera in hand.

“Who the hell are you?” Setsuna asked. He was of course not really expecting an answer, it was just a thought that happened to go too far and form on his lips like the first life on planet earth formed through some bio-chemical processes in the wet clay, formed like a mantle plume bubbling up from the molten iron of the earth’s core to form a super-eruption. 

The men said nothing, and soon he felt the larger of them scrape his rough facial hair against his own neck, holding him down to the bed, while another one retrieved from outside of the scene a syringe. The woman was filming already; camera set from the distance, seeming to zoom in on his face as he gasped with pain as the needle went into his left breast with a sharp piercing sensation. 

“What are you doing?” he cried out. “Stop it! I don’t want to – no, let me go! I’m not a toy!” They didn’t seem to listen, and whatever it was they had injected made him suddenly drowsy. It had snuck up on him at first, just the eyes feeling heavy, then soon his entire body felt like a rock sinking to the bottom of an ocean of pillows, and the man’s warm embrace became like that of his childhood bed. Closing his eyes, he fell into the world of restless medicated slumber. 

 

When he returned, he was no longer on the mattress. He was lying on the floor, with his neck embraced by a collar tied to a chain that was fastened to a hook on the wall nearby. He squirmed uncomfortably, and got onto his hands and knees, looking around. The woman and the strange men were nowhere to be seen right now. He focused on himself.

They had dressed him. A tightly fitted PVC dress, zipped at the front, he now wore, with a short, plain and loose skirt that was not long enough to hide the entirety of his buttocks; and a pair of boots whose slender tips severely constrained his feet in a painful position; heels high and the feet aligned almost vertically, he found he couldn’t even stand up, though he was not entirely unused to walking in high heels, being a poseur who to tease the imaginations of philistine bandgirls often cross-dressed. As he fell to the floor after his failed attempt at standing up, he noticed something had been inserted into his anus. He felt with his fingers in the direction of his arse, and touched something cold and metallic. Undoubtedly it was the flat end of a plug that they had forced into him... his virgin arse... or not quite. He had used toys before, of course... but it was not something he was comfortable to remind himself of. Sometimes he would think of those acts as those of another Setsuna, a detached personality with a penchant for debauchery.

He moved, and felt something sting on the front. He pulled up the skirt, and saw that something had been mounted on his cock; one of those ‘cages’, a frame of steel that restricted his penis and would make any erection painful and difficult; not only this, but the caged sported a long narrow protrusion that vanished into his urethra.

What had they done to him while he was out? He could still see the camera. He felt shame. They had tied his hair up in two large voluminous bunches, of the sort he sometimes did himself to draw forth the sexual appetite of women.

Then he heard something, a distant scuffling growing more audible. The woman – that treacherous harlot! – came into the room and walked over to the camera set up on the tripod. In one hand she balanced a little white cup of steaming coffee. 

“All right,” she said, “let us continue the shoot.”

The men returned. 

Setsuna shuddered. “You fuckers, you won’t get away with this! You can’t do this to me!” No one seemed to mind his protests. He tried to get free, but there was no point; he was secured, and there was no way for him to stand with these shoes – in an attempt to do so, his leg twisted painfully, and he fell onto the floor, landing in such a way as to force the plug quite painfully deeper into his rectal cavity.

Then the men were on him, hands reaching everywhere, fondling, touching. Fingers caressing his thighs, upwards, under the skirt of the dress, grasping and tugging at the trap that painfully tore into his annoyingly erect prick. Why did it stand at a moment like this? he wondered. Wasn’t this the absolute turn-off?

Then, the woman was there with a handheld camera in his face, capturing his expression of utter dejected shame, then focusing on his genitals as the skirt was flipped up; then his face again, blushing deeply.

The woman with the camera only made a few generic gestures to instruct the men; they seemed to have rehearsed the operation quite thoroughly. Either that, or they had done this to others before: the latter thought made Setsuna feel somewhat comforted. Then he was not alone to be subjected to this...

That thought was interrupted by an erect cock – the men had, one after the other, taken off their black briefs, and one of them had crawled in under him and held him in a steel grip. Though Setsuna was by no means weak, they were far more powerful, and he could do little to resist except now and then manage to make a sudden unexpected move which in reality was fruitless. Now – the cock was in his face. His mouth was closed, and he intended to keep it that way. One of the men said something he didn’t quite hear, and a pair of fingers closed his nose.

He understood what they were trying to do then. But he didn’t have a choice, did he? He had to breathe, or he would asphyxiate. Nose closed off, he had no choice but to open his mouth for a breath, and along with the rush of air into his lungs came that cock that had previously explored his face so thoroughly. It rushed into his mouth as if sucked by the draft, like a collapsing dam creating a violent surge in a reservoir. The man let go of his nose, and he respired, relieved thereby while that prick prodded at the threshold of his oesophagus. The man pulled out, then pressed in, deeper this time, triggering an empty gag-reflex, and tears rolled out of Setsuna’s eyes. 

Setsuna found himself standing on his knees while the man fucked away at his throat, now and then pulling out and letting him coughing spit out the mucus that rose up from his stomach whenever the reflex was triggered. While he was on his knees, one of the other men (Setsuna could scarcely tell them apart, except the larger man who had held him earlier, and it was not as if he had a chance to pay attention to the details of their appearances) roughly pulled out the plug that had been inserted into his bottom. He slipped in a finger, two fingers, and twisted them around within while Setsuna gagged on.

The man with the big dick soon grew tired of his mouth, and they repositioned him. Setsuna could do little but oblige, there was no heed paid to his own wishes (not that they were anything except a hope to somehow get out and leave this horror behind him). A well-lubed cock slipped up his bottom, thrusting in deeply, and his body quivered. The lance was buried within. Another erection was soon in his face, and this time he did not keep his mouth shut, for he knew they would only obstruct his remaining airway to get what they wanted. It was best to play along and hope that there would come a morrow. 

Big breasts, he thought, big enormous breasts, vaginas, vaginas with their fleshy folds, their deep red or pinkish interior, the little nozzle of the clitoris, it looked... it looked like a dick. It was all dicks and it was dicks everywhere, nothing but a forest of humongous dicks, and it was a dick in his mouth and a dick in his arse... He couldn’t see the vaginas and the breasts for the forest of dicks. Ignorant of the reality, he sucked the cock in his mouth, his tongue scraping up against it, catching some scattered hairs stuck to the base, dragging them with the tongue, and it seemed to please the man the way it tickled, for he let out a shy laugh that sounded rather... glad.

Suddenly, all was a strange vision of a warped landscape; he walked on soft ground the colour of human skin, that domestic pig-like pink, out of which grew an enormous forest of gigantic mushrooms shaped like cocks. Some were more like tree-stems, thick and with what looked to be tops covered with foreskin, and others still protruded like proud-mushrooming parasols. He was close by one, and put his hand against its rippled surface. He could feel it pulsate with the animal beat of some potent life-force, and as if on cue from that slightest of touches, it sprayed up into the air its wonderful seminal spores, that fell down over him and the surrounding land like wet frosting ready to go on a cake.

When he returned from his detached dreams, he no longer had a cock in his mouth; he found that one of the men had nestled himself between Setsuna and the floor. Another moved furtively behind them. Setsuna felt his testes rub up against the hairy stomach of the man below through the grate of the cock-cage, the surface slightly cold; it must be that man’s cock that was in his arse right now, then; his fingers brushed against the man’s chest, the hairs between his fingers felt like steel wool. 

Someone said something; he saw the woman rush by with the camera, but he felt too out of it to think clearly, or to feel anything much at all, save that he liked the way it felt when the dick thrust into his rectum; and when the second man’s cock joined the other snake at the gate, his arousal increased exponentially, to the point that he without touching his own prick spent on the man’s hairy belly. He said something apologetic, but no one paid any attention to that, and soon those two snakes danced in unison within his warm secret chambers like drunken lovers in the most delightful piston-engine dream. 

Even though there was a hint of pain now and then when he moved in a certain fashion, there was none from the thrusts on their own; so he kept as still as he could and enjoyed the rest of the ride. Keeping inside both things at once seemed to be some great effort, wherefore eventually the topmost man pulled out and, frigging himself, went around and shoved the prick back into Setsuna’s greedily sucking mouth. When he came, the jet was accompanied by some piss; the familiar, pronounced acidic taste of ammonia. He swallowed; surely, they would accept nothing less.

“This arse of yours,” the woman commented, presumably with the camera at his shaved bottom, “is certainly apt at taking cock. This cannot possibly be the first time that you’ve had something up there, can it? Oh, you must have used some toys. Maybe you’ve even done it with a band mate some time, just to experiment.” She laughed at him. He quivered.

The man came in his arse, but he didn’t feel much aside from how his thrusts slowed, grew spasmodic, and then finally ceased; it hurt a bit when he pulled out; his bottom felt sore, then, and he felt something drivelling out. Probably the semen, he thought. 

“Well, it’s good enough for a first scene. You’ll have to come back next week for the second part, though. I have a feeling you won’t be reluctant by then. Sure, you’ll say otherwise right now, but given some time, you will loosen up to the idea. Loosen up...” She laughed at her own jest. “Until then, there is somewhere you can go. I left a little present in your car. If you go to that place, I’m sure they will want you; you are made for that place... It just opened a month ago, and they are hiring. They can help you with that cage of yours – I gave them the key, you see.

“If you tell them what happened, you probably won’t need much of a training session, either.” More laughter. “That is, if you are able to walk up to your car. Oh, don’t worry. We won’t try to hold you back. We are confident you will not tell anyone about what happened here tonight, and we are quite confident you shall return for more.”

The man pushed Setsuna aside. He slipped down on the floor, dazed with exhaustion. He gathered his energies, and then tried to stand up. It wasn’t easy to walk in shoes like this, no, it certainly was not. He could manage a slight strut along the wall, however, and made his way to the door. He peered back at the woman and those men; the one with the larger dick was stroking his length, and it was growing. Overcome with a terrible fear that he would not be able to resist looking at it any longer without throwing himself head-first onto the floor and crawling like a tiger towards it, he turned flippantly and opened the door he saw, and found that it was the right one, and hurried up the stairs. 

The cold night air made the steel cage even colder as he hurried out of the building and got to his car. The keys were in the ignition, he saw (they had been that thoughtful), and his bag was in the rear seat. He sat down (his feet already quite hurting, for he was not used to walking in boots such as these, no, really, it was amazing he had gotten up the stairs without more than a few touches of the wall to steady himself), not minding whatever strange stains that might leave on the seat, got the engine going – and then looked to his right. 

On the seat next to him, a pamphlet lay. It was a stylish little thing; a backdrop of indistinct boys and colour whirring about like orgiastic miasma, like the Orgone of Reich’s delusions made real and visible. It mentioned an address at the bottom, not far away, ten minutes maybe. He took hold of it, and brought it up into the light from a nearby street light that seeped into the car.

COCKSUCKING MALE MAIDS CAFÉ, it said. NOW IN TOKYO. 

He revved the engine and drove onto the road. 

He knew where he would go.


End file.
